Scenes We'd Like To See
by PeacockBlue
Summary: A collection of shorts with one theme per chapter. Full summary inside. Manga with Brotherhood elements. First chapter: Bad things to say on your first day in the military.
1. Bad Things To Say On Your First Day

_**So, I was browsing through YouTube the other day, watching clips from Mock The Week, and I thought 'These would make really good prompts for drabbles and stuff!' (or something along those lines; my mind is an untidy and messed-up place on a **__**good**__** day.) So, here are things written from 'Scenes we'd like to see'. Tell me what you think of it in that lovely little box with 'Type review here' in it!**_

_**The original lines will be underlined, just so you know.**_

Bad Things To Say On Your First Day In The Military:

It was a couple of years before the Ishbalan Rebellion had become so bad the State Alchemists had had to be called in and conscription was at an all-time high, with new men arriving at basic training every day. Private Alex Johnson was the man given the job of outfitting all of these new recruits with uniforms and he very quickly learned the right and wrong things to say to a large group of muscular, _manly men_ with no sense of humour besides slapstick.

It was his first day in the new post – one that ensured he wouldn't get sent out to the Eastern Front and get stabbed or shot – and, although he would have liked to blame it on his fashionista mother and his lack of a father while growing up, Alex Johnson knew that the blame lay solely on the three most powerful words in the Amestrian language: 'I dare you'. The other guy who had gotten this assignment – let's call him Bob – had dared him to do it and, always keen to prove himself in the eyes of his peers, Alex Johnson had never known when to say no. It started off when the first group of soldiers had come in for their outfitting.

"Hey, Alex!" Bob hissed.

"Yeah?"

"Come over here!"

Then followed a few minutes of whispering and hushed snickers, hastily cut off when the new recruits came out, properly attired in their new blue uniforms, complete with buttcapes.

"Well," gushed Alex, a content grin on his face and hands clasped in front of his chest, "You guys look great!"

The beating he received was passed on into unofficial military history.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Thomas Fitzroy was a member of one of the richest families in Amestris and, as the only child, he had been doted on by loving parents. Unfortunately for him, that meant he didn't have a good frame of reference for ordinary social interactions. Also unfortunately for him, it was traditional for his family to send their children into the military at the age of eighteen.

It was one o'clock on his first day and Thomas (not Tom, not Tommy, _please_; just Thomas) was sitting in the Mess at a table with eleven other new recruits, talking about their plans for their careers. One wanted to work in the technology department, and was a whiz at hacking phone lines, another intended to work at shooting until he could shoot a fly off a post without damaging the wood, and yet another just wanted a quiet life of routine; to meet a girl, buy a house and have two-point-four children.

It was then that Thomas made his first gaffe.

"Well," Thomas said, chest swelling, "If you play your cards right, you might get to stand outside one of my family's mansions!"

There was no retaliation, just then. A few disbelieving glances were shot around the table and some insulted expressions, but they remained quiet and bided their time.

It was not until the new group was shown the barracks that Thomas Fitzroy finally got his comeuppance. He had asked for it pretty much as soon as he opened his mouth.

"This room's great!" he enthused, looking around at the rows of bunks, "…Where're the rest of you sleeping?"

Their CO just smiled at the murderous expressions on their faces and stepped out of the door, humming to herself as she heard the muffled shouts of pain.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Although Edward Elric was a child genius and had seen many things, he still had some childish tendencies. But could you blame the kid? He was only twelve, had been thrown headfirst into an adult world he didn't understand, had tried to bring back his dead mother, turning her into some kind of un-human _thing_ and, well, the list went on and on.

So it really should have been no surprise to Mustang when his newest team member walked in, clearly under the influence of some kind of horrific cold or 'flu, dumped his scruffy and badly-written report on his desk, and shuffled over to Hawkeye.

She looked down from her desk, a questioning look on her face as she saw the tear-streaked face of the youngest State Alchemist in history looking up at her.

He stretched out his arms and, in a quiet and slightly hoarse voice, Ed asked, "Can I have a cuddle?"

Struck by the puppy eyes being sent mercilessly in her direction, all Hawkeye could do was lift the young boy onto her lap and give him a warm hug. Why Edward had come to _her_ for comfort, she did not know.

Then again, Fuery looked like a puppy; Falman was about as cuddly as a knife; Havoc was… Havoc; Breda, she believed, slightly intimidated him with his sheer bulk and Ro- _Mustang_ wouldn't have known what to do with himself and would most likely have laughed and held it over the kid's head for the rest of his life. So she just rested her chin on the golden head and wondered if this was what it felt like to be a mother.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

This time, it was _Alphonse_ who made the team squee with cuteness overload. Inside, anyway.

It was the first time the brothers had to stay in Eastern Command, due to the lack of spare hotel rooms and they were put into barracks for the night. When they had been shown into the room with rows and rows of beds, the first thing Havoc heard was Ed's exuberant cry of "I call top bunk!", making the lone soldier in the room chuckle, not knowing just _who_ it was, but figuring that the second lieutenant was showing his son, cousin, nephew or some other relative around.

The second thing he heard was Al's tentative question:

"Does Teddy get his own bunk?" the armour asked, holding up a tatty old bear with one missing ear, an eye hanging by a thread and very worn paws.

"Y-yeah," Havoc replied, flustered and with a slight lump in his throat.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

"Hughes," a young Roy Mustang complained, "I blame _you_ for this."

"Ah, ah, ah! You should know better than to challenge me to make the best dare I can! You only have yourself to blame," his so-called best friend replied, grinning unrepentantly. "And I thought Major Smith wanted to see his face in this floor? Get back to your scrubbing, Roy,"

Grumbling, the alchemist-in-training (not that anyone _knew_) did so.

Earlier that day, at lunchtime, the usual 'I'm tougher and better than _he_ is' contest was going on between the male cadets.

The women, of course, knew better than that and did not feel the need to turn to stupid stunts to raise their standing among their peers, knowing that their skills would do all the talking needed.

One voice in particular rose above the clamour, inviting any challenge.

"OK, Roy! If a dare's what you want, how about this?" he leaned down to whisper it into his best friend's ear, all the men on the table staining to hear the challenge, but failing.

Mustang's face went white and, with the air of a man heading to his own funeral, he nodded.

Bets ran wild about what it could be and just how bad the punishment would be. Luckily, they did not have to wait long. After lunch, on the parade grounds, Mustang made a joke about their CO rather loudly in a hushed moment.

"You!" the major shouted, "Drop and give me twenty!"

Mustang swallowed, knowing he was about to die. He pushed his terror down as far as it would go and stepped in front of the rest of the assembled cadets.

"I beg your pardon!" he somehow managed to say. "Drop and give me twenty, _please_!" he somehow managed to do the stipulated 'sassy' hand-wave, cursing Hughes all the while. "You will get nothing by shouting."

In Mustang's opinion, he got off very lightly; he was ordered to scrub the floor (toothbrush provided) but what _really_ stung was what the major had said to Hughes afterwards:

"Keep an eye on him and make sure he gets it done properly. I wish more of The cadets had heads as level as yours on their shoulders!"

'_I will have my revenge, Hughes,' _Mustang promised to himself as he bent down and got to work. '_Just you wait…'_

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Olivier Armstrong's first victim upon entering the military was a lazy man from a civilian background. He had a whiny voice, sandy hair and _freckles_, not to mention an attitude that was irritating to the extreme.

All of these may have been ignored if, on the first day, he had not earned her eternal hatred the second he opened his mouth:

"This _is_ only one weekend a month, right?"

To her credit, she managed to hold out against her desire to destroy him for a full week, but, after that, he had a tendency to flinch whenever he saw a blonde woman, fresh fruit, or a hammer.

_**So, what do you think? And, as you may have noticed, I ship Royai. Expect more of it as this progresses.**_


	2. Bad Things For A Team Leader To Say

_**Yeah, I'm bored and just typing this all up, posting when I'm finished. This one is Mustang-centric. Enjoy.**_

Bad Things For The Team Leader To Say:

In his defence, Mustang had been having a very _trying_ week. His piles of paperwork seemed to have taken on lives of their own and delighted in multiplying every time he turned around, his roof developed a leak in the middle of the night, waking him up at an ungodly time in the morning with freezing cold drips falling on his face (it was quickly and easily fixed with some chalk, but that wasn't the point) and, on top of all that, he had Edward Elric, _Half_metal Alchemist, due to visit and he would, undoubtedly, have many more cracks about his age to suffer through as well as resisting the urge to fry the little brat.

That was why he was currently standing in the hallway, in a junction that meant there was plenty of room, chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!" when the aforementioned brat had bumped into another soldier and had perceived an insult to his height.

The Flame Alchemist noted that the meeting had, with his encouragement and that of the crowd he was beginning to draw who were joining in with his chant, clapping and stamping in a circle, begun to progress away from the almost obligatory 'Who are you calling so short he…' rant and towards 'beat the crap out of him'. Bets were being made and Mustang decided that, from now on, he would get his coffee refills himself, instead of getting some underling to do it for him. It was a good way to relax a little, as well as skiving of paperwork for a few minutes.

Besides, if nothing else, he would make a killing when Fullmetal floored the six-and-a-half foot mountain of muscle who had incurred his wrath.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Mustang re-read the orders he'd received, not quite able to believe it. They wanted him to take _his whole team_ out on this mission to the South. What, exactly, were the higher-ups thinking?! Either he or Fullmetal would end up killing the other; it was bad enough just spending _ten minutes_ in each others' company. This would take at least ten _days_.

Accepting that there was nothing he could do and remembering the line about Military Intelligence being a contradiction in terms, he stood up and called them in. Luckily for whoever it was who would have gotten sent off to find him, Fullmetal had not yet left after handing in the work of fiction he called a report.

"I have just received orders that we are all to go to the South to help sort out a little _problem_ there."

"Hey, old man!"

Mustang's fingers twitched, fighting the urge to flame the impudent brat. "Yes?"

"What's the problem?"

'_Don't fry him, think of the paperwork, the prison sentence and the fact that it would not look good to the higher-ups at promotion time.'_

"An uprising in the countryside. They think it will only take one team to solve it and they don't have the 'right' one. As it's fairly close to the border of South and East, they sent a request over here."

'_**Thank**__ you, Riz- __**Hawkeye! Hawkeye, **__not Riza!'_

"Oh. So, why am I here? I heard something about the Stone while I was out on the last mission and-"

"Orders are orders, Fullmetal. A good dog follows his master's commands, or did you forget that when you got your watch?"

Ed glowered at his boots at the reminder of his status as a 'dog of the military' as well as the refusal to let him do as he wanted.

"So, two days to get ready, then we're going to the station. Seats will be reserved. And Fullmetal,"

"Yeah?"

"Your brother will have to stay behind."

"What?! That's so unfair! He's been with me wherever I go!"

"Orders are orders. He can go home, can't he? Visit your friends in that village."

So, drama over, at least in Mustang's mind, Al bought a ticket to Resembool, stopping at least five attempts on the Flame Alchemist's life and giving his not-so-big brother strict instructions on behaviour while he was away with the rest of the group. And, as those two days passed, the situation steadily got more and more out of hand to the point where, standing on the station platform, Mustang made the following pep talk to his team:

"Now, you're all going on the trip but, if you've paid any attention to the news, you'll know that not all of you will be coming back. To save money, I've only booked tickets for the ride home for half of us. Breda, Havoc, Fullmetal, you're going to have to find your own ways back. I wish you all the greatest of luck."

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Bonus:

It was Hughes's first day in the Military Police and he, along with all of the other fresh-faced recruits or weary war returnees, was getting a lecture about standard procedures in the department.

Admittedly, he was tuning it out a little, wondering how Roy was doing in Eastern Command, especially with that promotion of his, not to mention his reputation as a war hero.

He was jerked away from his musings by the cheerful tone of the officer giving the lecture.

"...And that is how you hide a body! Never let it be said that we don't take care of our own; if any of you need any sort of help, whether legal or ever-so-slightly illegal, don't be afraid to ask your commanding officer; they have benefited from this system too!"


	3. Bad Things To Say At A Wedding

_**I really am churning these out, aren't I? Another Mustang-centric chapter for you all.**_

Bad things to say at a wedding:

Mustang had been having, for the past few weeks, some form of recurring nightmare. He kept dreaming that he was getting married (usually to the one woman who truly scared the shit out of him) and then someone or something (usually a certain Maes Hughes) messed it all up.

The first one hadn't been all that bad. It was a lovely warm summer day, the sun was shining, the birds were singing, the god of cliché scene-settings had upended his happy box on the world.

Mustang was standing awkwardly to the side, waiting for it all to be over with so he could sweep his beloved away to some tropical honeymoon island when his 'best friend' walked up.

"I must say, Roy-boy, your best man's in an absolute state!"

That made no sense for two reasons. One: they had promised to each other that they would have each other as their best man and two:

"That's my mother!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The second one was horrific, but not as deeply scarring as the nightmare that came after it.

He had got through the perfect wedding. He had met his bride at the end of the aisle, smiling at her, hopelessly in love. They had said the traditional words and exchanged rings. And, at last, he had lifted the veil and kissed the sniper softly, lovingly, on the mouth.

Now, it was the start of the dinner and the traditional speeches were made. And, of course, it was the best man's right to start and Maes was half-way through his speech.

"So, as everyone knows, it's my job to tell some amusing stories about Roy. So first of all, for a kick-off, he's a hermaphrodite."

All he could remember was a scream of pure rage as he leaped from his seat, hands outstretched, to strangle his _ex_-best friend before he found himself sitting upright in his bed, arms still stretched and in strangling position.

He vowed never to speak of it, _especially_ to Hughes. Gate knew the man already had enough dirt on him without the tortures his subconscious came up with.

_LineBreakLineBreak _

The most deeply scarring nightmare he had in this little series of weddings was, well, horrific.

It started off much the same as the first: the perfect day and so on. The wedding was over and he was standing next to his blonde bride, accepting congratulations from assorted friends and family. Unlike the previous nightmare, he still hadn't lifted the veil hiding his new partner's face, but he could see the end of long, loose blonde hair falling past the middle of her back.

Maes walked up to the two of them, grinning as he fought his way towards them through the assorted well-wishers.

"You finally got yourself a wife, Roy! No-one could've guessed it about you two!"

What? But her grandfather was always hinting unsubtly about him making Riza his first lady!

"I mean, I always thought you had your eye on Hawkeye, but you proved me wrong!"

Suddenly, the veil disappeared as if it had never been there. He didn't turn to look, terrified of who – or _what_ – he might see.

"This is my first gay wedding!" Ma- _Hughes _– exclaimed as he turned to whoever it was next to him. "So, you must be the pretty one!"

And the last voice he ever wanted to hear _again_ replied irately, "Who're you calling so pretty and short he looks like a _girl_!"

The next day, when Fullmetal arrived and stomped into his office – Mustang could swear that the wall would never be the same, the way the brat slammed it – he stayed behind his desk. He didn't make conversation. He didn't berate the blond about the damage reports that would cost the military thousands. He even managed not to make any cracks about his height. Anything to get him _out_ and as far away as possible as quickly as possible.

Needless to say, the kid chose that specific day to become suddenly more perceptive than ever.

"Hey? You OK?"

"Yes! Yes! Perfectly fine! Haven't you got someone to rant at for calling you short? No! Don't come closer! Stay there!"

He passed out from a panic attack and started to return to consciousness to the sight of assorted shoes, including armoured feet, Riz- _Hawkeye_'s sensible shoes and _his_ elevator boots.

"_nk I should give him the kiss of life?"_ he faintly heard Fullmetal say. Then the implications settled in.

"I'm awake! I'm awake, I'm awake, I'm awake!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The most recent was more embarrassing than mentally scarring. It was, up until the speeches, exactly the same as the second. Maes's speech, as best man, went off without a hitch. It was suspiciously perfect, and then Mustang found himself standing to deliver his own.

Even before he opened his mouth, he knew he was going to say something horrifically embarrassing, so he was not surprised when he heard his voice saying:

"Now, I know Riza's family's always had some doubts about me so let me explain, first of all, why I'm naked."


	4. Bad Things To Hear In The Military Polic

_**I have no idea how I'm doing all of this. Has anyone else had a day like this; can't stop writing?**_

_**And, BloodLily16, consider this retribution for all the reviews you've posted and not letting me get in touch to thank you: **__**public gratitude**__**.**_

_**Thank you, oh so much, to BloodLily16 for all the follows, favourites and reviews she has left me on my stories. And thank you for favouriting this story as well! I think everyone should help in the noble cause for your acknowledgement as a good reader by adding their thanks in reviews!**_

Bad Things To Say/Hear In Your First Week In The Military Police Department:

It was Maes Hughes's first proper mission as part of the military police. They had been sent to investigate reports about one of the State Alchemists in the area. Allegedly, she had been participating in black magic rituals.

Hughes blinked, then re-read the briefing. Black… magic…? That was not something you saw every day, not even in Central where all of the strangest people seemed to congregate.

The raid went well; she didn't let them in, so they had to force the door open. Guns held at the ready and so on, they moved through the too-quiet house until they reached an anteroom filled with dried herbs hanging from the rafters, drippy candles, pentagrams and other various occult symbols. There was movement near the floor and, nervously, Hughes swung his gun to follow it. But, luckily, before he could shoot it, he realised it was not some kind of chimera or ungodly animal, but a cat. Well, depending on who you _asked_ it wasn't some kind of ungodly animal, but Maes Hughes had always secretly nursed a strong dislike of the fluffy little demons.

They cautiously moved across the room until they reached the door where, supposedly, the target was, and they pushed it open.

It all went downhill from there and, long story short, the whole team ended up fleeing from the house after a failed attempt at arrest. And so, here he was, trying to explain to his CO just what had happened.

"Well, sir, I was _going_ to arrest her, but I kinda lost my courage when she started making weird shapes in the air and screeching 'I'll put a curse on ya!'."

His commanding officer, it was fairly safe to say, was not amused and Hughes could not help but think nostalgically of the creative punishments he and Roy had earned while in the Academy as he got to peeling potatoes for the whole brigade, slicing off parts of his skin every so often.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It was the sacred break time. Hughes's unit was in the shared break room, sipping coffee and eating biscuits dunked in said coffee when _it_ happened.

Normally, there would be complete peace on the radio – and phone system – at that time, due to a lack of gushing over a certain Lt. Colonel's wife and daughter. That day, however, was entirely different.

Some crazy alchemist had managed to transmute the mother of all flies. The radios were going crazy and one poor Private – Sam Brier – had to listen to the insanity being blasted right into his ears via headphones.

"There's a giant fly attack in the break room!"

"Someone call a SWAT team!"

"And quickly; before the Lieutenant Colonel comes out waving his photos around!"

As he was slamming his head repeatedly on the table in front of him, the Private felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry," the old hand told him, "You get used to it. Well, either that or you turn insane. Either way, you'll fit in."

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It had, all in all, been a very tough case and they finally had an eyewitness to one of the crimes perpetrated by the mugger. They had rounded up a list of suspects who fit the psychological and physical profile.

"So, do you know how this goes?" Private Brier asked the man he was escorting.

"Yes, yes. I know how an identity parade works. You don't need to tell me."

They had all of the suspects lined up and the witness stepped forwards, into the view of the suspects.

"That's her! That's her! That's the woman I mugged!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The whole department was rushed off their feet. Not only was a certain Ishbalan serial killer on the loose, but there had been a crime-wave locally and no-one had any spare time any more. Even Hughes had to cut back the time he spent calling Colonel Mustang out East to gush over Gracia and Elicia!

The frustration, the irritation, the tiredness, the forced insomnia: it all came to a head early one Wednesday afternoon.

"I know it's unlikely, but no-one's handed in Scar, have they?"

The joke had been made many times before, but this was the first time a man got hoisted up to the top of the base's flagpole for it.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

To be honest, no-one had much liked the most recent murder victim. The man was unpleasant for co-workers, subordinates and superiors alike. It was a surprise the man had made it to captain, but those, Hughes thought, were no reason for Second Lieutenant Hurse to say what he had to the captured killer.

"_I am charging you with the murder of Captain James Jones. That'll be fifty sens!__"_

Of course, he had expressed his displeasure with the Lieutenant very quickly.

"_Hurse!"_

_He gulped. "Y-yes, sir?"_

"_If you ever do something like that again, at least make sure a superior isn't in hearing distance!"_

_Properly chastised, the Second Lieutenant looked down at his feet, mumbling, "Yes, sir."_


	5. Bad Political Speeches

_**Getting tired of this yet? I hope not!**_

_**You get two themes this time, you lucky things!**_

_**Mostly King Bradley-centric**_

Bad Ways To Start Political Broadcasts:

Fuhrer Bradley had decided to start making speeches over the radio to increase his popularity in the nation. But, of course, he was far too busy to write his own speeches or to proofread them before reading them out loud over the radio to Amestris. Needless to say, there were some issues caused by this.

"My fellow paedophiles…" he stopped. "Right, who wrote this?!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

In his defence, it had been a busy day. But still, that was no excuse for his reaction to the bloodcurdling scream that echoed down the corridors of Central Command.

"Hang on, I'll be with you in a minute." He drew his swords and ran to intercept.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

This time, he managed to get at least half-way through the planned speech before the disaster happened. "And, as you know, the comedy show is on the other channel, but I'm sure you'll all… Oh, not again!"

He knew he'd lost pretty much every single listener.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Amestris had revolutionised the system and now, the country was officially a semi-democracy; the leader was chosen by the people, but he or she could not be removed by the people except if, say, an angry torch-and-pitchfork-wielding mob stormed the Fuhrer's mansion.

It was the much-anticipated verbal battle between the two leading candidates and, as the favourite in the unofficial polls, the famous Flame Alchemist was given the honour of starting.

"Hello. I'm Roy Mustang, and I expect you're wondering why I'm naked." The planned speech just went from bad to worse but, after the 'vulnerability' shown in that speech, his position in the unofficial polls shot up, with almost every woman in Amestris expressing their support for the famed alchemist, especially if he made a promise to take his shirt off at regular intervals.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Bradley was, yet again, attempting to make a speech over the radio and, rather than the stern, paternal figure the previous group of speechwriters had tried to convey, the new team were heading in a more… relatable direction.

It was about a quarter of the way through the speech that this became so obvious, it was dancing up and down while drunk-singing the rudest song you could think of.

"But, I think our policies are best expressed… _in song_!"

Silence, swiftly followed by the sound of a sword being drawn, was heard before the broadcast was cut off.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

He was giving these writers _one more chance_ before he stabbed them all. Just one, and then they would be kabobs, victims of his Wrath.

"Greetings, Amestris, and welcome to my broadcast. During the next three and a half hours…" he did not notice what he perceived to be the truth, and did not realise how many people stopped listening at those words.

It was not, however, until he addressed the ongoing wars with Drachma, Creta and Aerugo that he threw his papers down in disgust.

"Now, look, we know we're not going to win, but that does not mean we can't give it a – Right. That's it. From now on, I'm writing my own radio broadcast speeches!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

By now, King Bradley had stopped caring. His radio speeches were total disasters and seemed to have been cursed from the start.

"Let me tell you what the voices in my head are telling me…"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

_LineBreakLineBreak_

What The Voices In Fuhrer Bradley's Head Are Saying:

Being a homunculus, especially a human-based homunculus, was a constant struggle against the souls making up his Stone. Each one of them wanted to gain control over his body and he could not sleep for fear of becoming just another voice in the tempest of screams.

"_You will obey! You will obey!_" a Xerxean lord who had owned many slaves and much land. He was one of the loudest and, most likely, had come very close to possessing his body when the Stone was injected into his bloodstream.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It was a good publicity shot; the man was not exactly subtle about his ambitions for the position of Fuhrer and, as they both held up the rescued kid together, Bradley realised that the Flame could actually do it.

They posed for more shots.

'_Keep smiling__' _a manipulative soul; an innkeeper, he believed.

'_And__ have Mustang killed__.' _A man due to be executed for multiple murders before the destruction of Xerxes.

'_Keep smiling (have Mustang killed)__'_ a third soul. Cautious, prudent. Not one he had heard before.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

'_I like big butts and I cannot lie! You other brothers can't deny…__'_ this… person cropped up every so often. A lecherous young man who thought of nothing but parties, eating and getting drunk, interrupting at the most inconvenient of times, Bradley thought as he shuddered in full view of the press in front of him.

'_Go on, lie. You got away with it last time…__'_

_**Less humorous this time. Don't worry; order will be restored.**_


	6. Unlikely Things To Hear On The Radio

_**To BloodLily16: since, as far as I know, I still can't contact you directly, feel free ;)**_

_**Anyway, here's for my sixth chapter today. The things I can do when I'm bored with access to the internet!**_

Things you wouldn't hear on the radio:

It was a new thing, the traffic report. Mechanisation had only just reached the point where cars were more common than horses, so they were still feeling things out a little.

The leader of the project was fairly sure, however, that it should not be like this:

"I repeat: There is an accident on Main Street. It's a good one, so hurry up; there's flames and everything!"

He was fairly certain that traffic reports should be clinical and dispassionate, delivered calmly and without any little… additions.

The poor man who had been handed this project suddenly realised just why the previous leader was so eager to get rid of it.

The ABC [Amestrian Broadcasting Corporation] had very few programs that looked to be in a death spiral, the dreadful singing contest being one that came to mind, but it was going to take _so much_ hard work to get the Traffic Report working, even locally in Central, and especially if the attitudes of the reporters stayed the same as they were now. The excitable young men on the staff seemed to be in it mainly for the kudos with their friends and as a way of getting entertainment and girls.

Hmm, allegedly there were places opening up on the Fuhrer's Speech time…? Maybe try to get in there instead…

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The new music-based radio channels were mind-boggling and especially popular among the youth of the population. All except one; on that channel, even the DJs were tired and looking for better work.

"You're listening to Wave FM, the same five songs… all day long. Hooray…"

The senior citizens' favourite channel, Wave FM, was the only one that played the kind of music they liked to hear; slow waltzes and other calm dance music. Only five of their discs actually had lyrics, but, although they would never admit it, most people turned onto it when they needed calming down after a bad and/or long day.

It was the most listened-to radio in the Military Dorms, come to think of it.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Hughes had been up all night, working on a case and it was somewhat gratifying, upon turning on the radio, to know that there was _someone_ in greater mental agony than he was.

"Good morning! It's six AM and this is the breakfast show!"

There was a brief pause as he shuffled papers or something, before a sob was heard.

"Who's awake at _six AM_?! My _dad_ didn't get up a six, and he worked in the Youswell coal mines!"

Hughes got up to refill his mug with industrial-strength coffee.

Ah, the sweet sound of other people's suffering first thing in the morning…


	7. Unsettling Things To Hear In The Mansion

_**For this, pretend that they accepted Hoenheim's offer on the Promised Day, OK?**_

Unsettling things to hear in the Fuhrer's mansion [originally the White House]:

It was safe to say that no-one had seen this coming. Admittedly, he had a good record in the military and was considered a prodigy, not to mention his actions on the Promised Day, but still – this was something nobody had expected. The alchemist had, at one point, been considered the last person who would be chosen as Fuhrer, but due to the overwhelming public support, he was now being instated into office.

The butler opened the door to the Fuhrer's mansion, bowing deeply.

"Welcome, Fuhrer President Elric."

Ed grinned. Yes! He had finally beaten old man Mustang at his own game and now he could forever take it easy in the Fuhrer's mansion.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Okay, so perhaps this wasn't going to be as easy as he had expected. The paperwork was soul-destroying – until he learned of the beautiful concept of delegation – and too many people wanted his opinion on vital stuff.

Not to mention the pressures of maintaining a public-friendly image. Luckily, he still had his status as 'The People's Alchemist', but he couldn't ride on that reputation forever.

So, his Public Relations team thought up some new images for him to use.

The first attempt failed when Fuhrer Elric was being interviewed by a chain smoker. Half-way through the interview, the inevitable happened.

"Does your cigar taste a bit funny?"

His PR team, standing and eavesdropping on the other side of the door, facepalmed.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Winry was visiting him, coming to see his new house – a building she had never thought she would step into. And now? Well, there she was, walking through the hallowed halls.

She was shown into the main office, where the alchemy freak was supposed to be.

"Ed?" The room was a mass graveyard of trees. Winry could almost swear that she heard the dying screams of ancient forests as she picked her way past the person-sized piles of paper. "Are you there? Are you alive?"

"Winry!" Ed shouted.

"Ed? Where are you?"

"Ah-hah! It's _Fuhrer President_ Ed, to you!"

She could _hear_ the grin on his face. "Don't make me get my wrench out, alchemy freak,"

Safely shielded by the mounds of paperwork, Ed felt fairly safe in replying "Automail freak!"

She had managed to pull him out from behind his desk and they were now walking around the mansion to his second study, the one where he did all of his interviews and meeting the public. The old childhood friends had been chatting in comfortable armchairs for about half an hour, when Winry noticed something on the wall.

"Ed… What's that?" she pointed to it.

"Oh, that? That's a map of Creta."

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Ed was visiting Al in Resembool, just taking it easy.

Or, at least as easily as he could with aides, bodyguards, PR people and all of the other various employees he couldn't seem to go anywhere without these days.

"So, brother," Al started, "Everyone here was so happy when you decided to make peace with Drachma!"

"Really, Al?"

"Yeah! They all think about you with pride; 'that Edward Elric's from our village', they say. They say that you're the best Fuhrer ever!"

Ed turned a violent shade of red. "Well, Al, I must tell you that deciding whether to go to war was one of the tensest games of eenie meenie mini mo I've ever played!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

They were preparing for the delegation from Drachma to arrive and the presidential mansion was in uproar. Fuhrer President Edward Elric was tearing his hair out with stress.

The relations between the two countries had become more tense with the peace; now that they were no longer at war with each other, Amestris and Drachma were not entirely sure how to treat one another, hence the need for diplomatic delegations.

After yet another week of preparations, and then the delegates arrived. They were big, strong men, very physically imposing.

Ed chuckled inwardly as he saw them approaching him. _'Big, strong and stupid; just the way I like 'em'_. Of course, none of these thoughts showed on his face; he knew better than to let on he was contemplating just how easy it would be to beat up diplomats, even if he was full of stress that would have been relieved oh-so-easily with just one tiny little fight.

The evening passed smoothly. The Fuhrer did not make any gaffes, and nobody used the 's' word in his hearing.

Of course, something had to happen. it was far too perfect. Of _course_ an assassin would jump out, asking for the Fuhrer to be handed over in return for him not hurting a waiter who had been doing nothing but passing around drinks and minding his own business.

Surrounded by aides and advisors telling him what to do, Ed whirled around to face the head of them.

"Look, who's the Fuhrer here, me or you?"

Silence.

"It's me, shit." He took off at a run drawing the assassin away. The waiter was pushed to the floor, forgotten as the assassin fired a few shots at the fleeing figure.

He caught up with the Fuhrer President, slightly cautious due to the evil grin that stretched across Edward's face.

On the plus side, he heard the hospitals here in Amestris were really good

On the bad side… was that a _poker_ he was holding?!

_**Ed as Fuhrer… something about that just gets me.**_


	8. Unlikely Things For The Fuhrer To Say

_**As I've already said, there's something about having **_**Ed**_** as Fuhrer that just gets me. So this one is following the last chapter.**_

Unlikely Lines For The Fuhrer President To Include In His Annual Message [originally the Queen]:

Racism was still running rife in Amestris, especially against the Ishbalans. The public had simply had too much negative propaganda about them pumped into their everyday lives for too long. Fuhrer President Elric was determined to change this.

Another thing he had decided to do was to start making an annual speech on the Winter Festival, a nation-wide radio broadcast.

Why not put the two together? What could possibly go wrong?

It was The Day. Ed had written his speech. His official speech-writers had overhauled and re-written it. He had ignored them and gone with the speech he intended to give from the start, anyway; what did they know?

Part way through the speech was the one line that had made the professional writers cringe.

"I don't see why everyone hates the Ishbalans so much! I mean, yeah so Scar tried to kill me, but we attacked them first!" conveniently ignoring Envy's admission, Ed swiftly carried on. "Some of my best friends are Ishbalan!"

Not for the first time, the PR team wondered if they had an idiot for Fuhrer.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The second year, Fuhrer President Elric had not realised that the microphone was on when he walked into the room and continued with the dirty jokes contest he was having with the visiting Emperor Ling Yao.

Luckily for him, it was not Ed's turn to tell a joke, and so Ling's voice was the one echoing around Amestrian homes, starting the second annual speech off with the now-infamous line.

"Ed! How about this one: So, there were two nuns in a bath,"

"Ling," Ed snickered, having seen the little green light.

"Yes?"

"It's already on,"

"Ah."

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The third year, he was slightly more aggressive; his ex-commander, Roy 'Flame' Mustang, had been causing significant trouble for him with his little sulking fits over having lost the title to Ed.

He turned a speech over, it was approved by the writers, and he read it all the way through, from start to finish, without any mishaps. Everything was going perfectly to plan.

Little did his poor aides suspect that it was going to have as unique a flair as both of the proceeding speeches.

"And, as I sign off at the end of this year's Winter Festival speech, I would like to make a personal statement to a certain someone."

Here, the listeners were expecting him to say something about Winry Rockbell, the young woman that everyone could see the Fuhrer was completely smitten with.

But, no; this was _Edward Elric_.

"Mustang, you'll have to prise my title out of my cold, dead hands"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

This was going to be the last time he ever bet against his brother, especially using his speech as his punishment for losing. Sometimes, he really hated the devious little-

"Fuhrer Elric, sir? It's time to get ready."

Ed took a deep breath to help him through the coming embarrassment.

Right from the start of the speech, the listeners knew that something had happened.

"And this year," the Fuhrer's unenthusiastic voice came through the speakers of the various radio sets, "The Fuhrer President is brought to you by Rockbell Automail, the Fullmetal Alchemist's choice!"

It went normally, until about half way through, when another new advert was slipped in. Across the country, citizens could hear him gritting his teeth in irritation.

"Have you been involved in an accident that wasn't your fault? If so, call personal injury lawyers now!"

He would have his revenge on the demon in angel's clothing sooner or later.

The final humiliation was at the end of the speech.

"We have all learned many things this year. I myself have learned never to bet against my younger brother about experimental results. And I leave you with this:" he sighed, knowing he would never be allowed to forget this. "I'm a killer Queeeeeeeen!"


	9. Rejected Questions For The State Exams

_**Just returned from a Remembrance Sunday parade. Thought I may as well do some more writing.**_

Rejected Questions For The State Examinations:

Many people doubted the likelihood of a mere twelve year old country boy gaining the prestigious position of State Alchemist. Even Roy Mustang, the man who had found him and seen what he and his brother could do, had his concerns.

First, there was a written test for the applicants to evaluate basic knowledge, as well as a psychological test hidden in the questions. It was one of these that threw Edward.

He paused from where he had completed a short essay about the merits of one transmutation circle over another for basic repairs to steel tools and re-read the question in disbelief.

'All P.E. teachers are paedophiles. Discuss.'

Right. Well, he did have a strong dislike of his sports teacher in the local school at Resembool…

_LineBreakLineBreak_

As Fuhrer of Amestris, Ed had to look over the questions for the annual State Examinations, something he didn't exactly look forwards to; there was always _someone_ in the department that wrote them with some kind of grudge against him for beating them when he was twelve. Ah; here was one.

"A lot of people say these exams are too easy. Is the answer a) Yes or b) Selim Bradley?" He read flatly. He called his secretary in.

"Ah, Rosie. Could you send up Major Flottes up to me? Thanks."

Not much time later, the named man was standing outside his door nervously while Ed's secretary announced his arrival.

"Send him in," Ed ordered, feeling the evil tendencies he remembered from places like Youswell under Yoki. "Now, Major. Just because I beat your brother in the State Examinations when I was twelve and he only got the position recently does not mean that you can send up questions like this. Understood?"

Sometimes he wondered whether he would be able to make some of the more irritating people under his command 'disappear'.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Roy Mustang sat down in front of his desk, tapping his pen on the wood, his nerves thrumming with tension. This was his chance to skip ranks straight up to Major. He had his gloves in his pocket, ready for the practical demonstration, and he had been reading books non-stop for the past few months to revise for this.

Steps came towards him and he looked up to see the female officer handing out the papers. A small hand bell was rung and, as one, every alchemist in the room opened the question booklets.

An hour and a half had passed and Mustang was feeling fairly confidant about his marks. He turned over his final page and saw that, between the sheets had been slipped a scrap of lined paper. Written on it in a woman's handwriting was 'Sex education practical. Report to me in the stationary closet, xxx'. He looked up and met her eyes. The blonde winked flirtatiously and, cheeks a previously unknown shade of red, Mustang immediately returned his attention to his question sheet.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The previous year had been full of storms and, apparently, that was reflected in the questions department, where they had few other outlets to express their displeasure.

That was still no excuse for him to have had to drag up five of the writers from their desks to his office.

"I don't think I need to ask whether you know why you're here." He looked down at the papers in his hand. "So, Major Flottes again? An environmentalist, I see." He cleared his throat before reading the question out loud. "If the world is heating up at two degrees per decade, what is the point of everything? How, exactly, will that help our examiners to determine the suitability of the State Alchemist candidates?" ignoring the mumbles directed at said Major's feet, he continued berating his underlings. "And this one," he glanced at a second sheet. "Now, I understand that you're a bit sore about the issues we've been having with the railway system recently, but that doesn't mean you can slip a question asking 'a train is travelling at seventy miles per hour between Resembool and Rush Valley, at what time will it be cancelled?', does it?" He paused, taking a third sheet off the top of the pile. "Now, where to start? The vicious personal attacks, the ones that question the sexuality of most officers above Brigadier, including me, or the ones that hint at a personal drugs habit?"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Ed, being the only member of the military young enough to pass as a schoolchild – because he still _should_ be in school – was often chosen for infiltration missions, helping two older officers to pose as a family. As a result, he had been to about seven different schools in fourteen months, all over the Eastern Area and, to tell the truth, he was getting sick of it. Not only because the students were, more often than not, stuck-up, rich, spoiled brats, but also because he hated the uniforms. There was a _reason_ he had made several of the soldiers giving out uniform break down and burst into tears. Edward Elric did. Not. Do. Uniform.

And the entrance exams! They were so _easy_ he could have done them in his sleep and it rankled to have to mess some questions up as well as to take his time doing so, in order to avoid attention. Take the one he was doing now for example. Whoever had written this had to have been on drugs, judging by this multiple choice question: Tick the box A, B or C to receive the grade A, B or C.

In the end, it was a relief to kick some ass, especially as he wasn't all that clear who was on his side, a blindfold being over his eyes, and everything. He really didn't like his new 'father' and honed in on him to make sure no kid would ever have to go through the same torture of having to call this guy 'Dad'. It being a life-or-death combat situation, he used his left leg, just in case. Hard.


	10. Famous Last Words

_**Don't expect much tomorrow, or until next Saturday; school's taking back over.**_

Famous Last Words:

It was not, admittedly, the first time he had been captured. For some reason, when people looked at Edward Elric, they saw, rather than the totally badass State Alchemist, an easy kidnapping target. And no, it was _not_ because he was… vertically challenged!

It wasn't all bad; he now had regular training on how to deal with kidnappers or hostage-takers, and it didn't cost anyone a sens!

So, there he was; locked in a room with a concrete slab for a bed and several hired grunts with guns on the other side of the door. They had left a few bits of rubbish in the room, but nothing he could make a weapon out of.

Even his automail had been detached!

His ears pricked up as he heard part of a conversation on the other side of the heavy door.

"Look, he's only got lipstick, Vaseline and jam. What trouble can he cause?"

A grin stretched its way across his face. Using the lipstick to draw, and the sugar in the jam…

Not even five minutes later, a loud explosion rocked Eastern City. Colonel Mustang had been waiting for just that.

"Follow the smoke and screaming citizens. Fullmetal'll be at the other end,"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Partly due to his swift rise in ranks, partly due to his war reputation and also partly due to his womanising ways, the Flame Alchemist had to endure many taunts and insults when sent out to bring in criminals.

Luckily, he had a fairly thick hide.

Usually, anyway; there were some things that were he simply could not forgive, as this man was about to find out.

"Oi! Mustang! Yer mum's a slag!" the man, a drug dealer, thief, mugger, and soon to be charcoal, shouted.

_Snap._

Insults to himself, Mustang could handle. Insults to the woman who had raised him? Unforgivable. The man survived, but he would soon wish he hadn't.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Ed and Al had lost their purse.

Well, according to Ed, it had 'gone walkabout', but Alphonse knew that was just his brother's way of spreading out or simply evading the blame.

The Elric brothers had no money on them and, without a ticket, they would not be able to board the train to Eastern City, where Ed had to give in a report to Mustang by the next day or risk… something.

That still did not excuse Ed for what he did next.

"Brother, I'm telling you; you can't do it!"

"Al, listen to me. I bet you I can jump that ticket barrier. It's not that high!"

"Brother, it's almost as tall as you are," his long-suffering younger brother replied.

"WHO ARE YOU CALLING A TINY LITTLE MIDGET WHO FALLS IN BETWEEN CRACKS IN THE PAVEMENT?!"

"I didn't say anything like that!"

Ignoring Alphonse's protests, Ed squared up to the barrier and took off at a run. Just as he jumped, he tripped over a dropped umbrella and landed, upside down and twisted between the bars of the barrier.

He looked up at the helmeted face that was somehow giving off a reproachful expression and raised a single metal finger.

"We _never_ speak of this again."

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It was about a week since the flagpole incident in the Military Police and they had just received a tip-off from an anonymous source about the whereabouts of a certain wanted criminal.

The thing was, when they went to the place specified by the unnamed informer, Scar was lying in wait. Apparently, he had orchestrated the whole thing just to get to those pursuing him.

'_Damn._'

That word, and various other four-letter ones along the same lines, was thought simultaneously by every single man in the squad.

As one, they turned their guns on the beggar who had been his messenger.

"No! Don't shoot me, it's him you want!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Hughes was not sure what the man had done to her, but Lt. Desque's ex-girlfriend was _pissed_. He had come to work with his shirt un-ironed, boots unpolished, hair un-combed and a number of cardboard boxes containing his worldly possessions.

He'd certainly never been thrown out by his beautiful Gracia.

Anyway, the guy asked if he could have the afternoon off to try to reconcile with his girlfriend and, always happy to interfere with other people's love lives, Hughes immediately agreed, before looking through his (unofficial) file.

Hmm, Sandra Wakes, 25, blonde, blue eyes, 5'7'' and a musician. Sounded temperamental; should be fun to watch!

Hughes managed to get his whole staff to throw him out by flashing pictures of his wife and baby daughter, gushing over them until one of the newer men started hitting his head on the desk.

_Of course_ he knew just how effective it was as a tactic to get his way! What did people think he was, oblivious?!

He tailed Desque to a lovely little café which seemed to be opposite her apartment. Unfortunately, he was too late to catch the attempt at reconciliation before she started hurling things at him from her window. Later on, after he had sent the poor man to hospital with broken arms and at least a few damaged ribs, he asked a bystander what, exactly, the man had been saying. The reply was… unexpected.

"Oh, he said something that sounded like 'The funny thing is, the closer it gets, the more it looks like a piano…'."


	11. Bad Things To Say On A First Date

_**Yo! I'm eating chocolate cake and decided to write this as my first Havoc-centric chapter! Considering his luck with women, is it really such a surprise I chose this theme?**_

Bad Things To Say On A First Date:

Jackie was amazing. She was beautiful, she smoked, she shared his dislike of shopping, she even enjoyed watching sports matches with him, if he could get tickets. They had been friends for a few months when Havoc finally plucked up the courage to ask her out on a date.

She accepted. He booked the restaurant, bought flowers and picked her up on time, dressed smartly and carrying more than enough money for however much they decided to eat.

He escorted her around the corner to that quiet little place he had chosen, the one with a violinist in a corner that served good food without being extortionate.

"Oh, wow. This was a really good choice, Jean." She picked up her menu. "You know what, the last time I was in this restaurant, I was still a man!" Perusing the dishes on offer, she didn't notice the effect those words had on 'her' date.

His face went white and, as quickly as he could, he excused himself, suddenly 'remembering' an urgent report that needed filing.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Rachel had seemed pretty nice at first. Tall, willowy and with amazing long dark hair and sultry eyes, she was stunning to look at. Havoc resolved not to bring her anywhere near Mustang, in case he tempted her over to the dark side, dated her, then dumped her for another poor sod's girlfriend. Did the man do it on purpose or something?

It was their third date and Havoc was beginning to have his doubts. It was not until they were about half way through their main courses, however, that he realised she was a few sandwiches short of a picnic.

They were talking about work and Havoc had been boasting about the roles he had played in many thrilling tales, when he asked her about her job.

"Actually," she said rather dreamily, "During the day I'm something really high up in the city…" and she cooed.

She cooed. She cooed _like a pigeon._ She sounded like one of those feathery rats with wings!

This time, Havoc had to fake an allergic reaction to the seafood in front of him to escape.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Henrietta was a history teacher at the local secondary school. She was fairly plain, but made up for it with her lively talk and quick wit. Her anecdotes about the various mistakes of the teenagers she taught were always refreshing, as well as her descriptions of the way they acted when hormones first reared their ugly heads; mooning around their crushes with heartbroken expressions because they may as well have been invisible to the other student.

In a battle of wits, she would rarely come out as the loser, if ever.

It was one of those rare moments when a topic of conversation didn't immediately present itself so, casting around frantically for a way to get the talk flowing again, Havoc bravely asked about the first thing to come to mind.

"I know that I can't be the first guy you've gone out with. Out of curiosity, what's your dating history like?"

"Er… my dating history? Yeah, erm… divorced, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived." She burst out laughing at the way his face dropped. "I'm just joking! If you _must_ know, I've only gone out with three other guys; I don't really have a chance to get out much, what with marking and the rest."

They made plans to meet again the next Saturday evening and it all went swimmingly, until Henrietta's brother not-so-subtly threatened Havoc's manhood should he ever hurt her or even be too close to her in his presence.

That kinda put a damper on things.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Right from the start, he had known that asking out Eva had been a mistake. This fact was hammered in even further on their first date, a meal together at a local café, followed by a walk in the nearby park.

He blamed the chocolate cake, really.

She had eaten it quickly, devouring it until not even a crumb remained on the plate. It seemed to give her some form of courage – or maybe it just removed her inhibitors – because the next thing she did was latch onto his chest, screaming "I WANT A BABY NOW!"

He did the only thing he could; get out of the embrace and run like the devil herself was chasing him.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It was the morning after the annual New Year's bash and Havoc's whole body hated him. His head hurt, every muscle ached, and he was going to die if he didn't have some water in the next ten seconds.

He got up out of bed with a heroic effort, fighting down the urge to vomit as his head swam. He staggered through his apartment and into his kitchenette where he downed two glasses of water in quick succession, swiftly followed by plenty of strong coffee.

Feeling slightly more human, he stumbled over to the mirror where a nearby address was stuck with a post-it. Underneath it, in his distinctive drunk spider handwriting was a reminder:

_Jessica, Friday 7 PM_

_Dinner + film_

His memories of the night before were hazy, at best, but he was sure he could remember flashes of a flirtatious grin followed by an agreement to meet up for a date. Oh well, what was the worst that could happen?

He was standing outside her door, the obligatory flowers in his hand, about to ring the doorbell.

From the first – sober – sight, he knew something had gone horribly wrong.

"Whoa! How pissed was I when I asked _you_ out?" he blurted thoughtlessly.

"Not nearly as pissed as I was when I said 'yes'!" she snapped, then slammed the door in his face.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

So it had come to this; answering 'Lonely Heart' adverts in the paper. That was doomed to failure from the very start, but he gave it a go.

They had agreed a meeting place and a time. Havoc did not bother to buy flowers or any other gift, but turned up at the stipulated plaza at noon for his date.

She immediately got on his nerves. The woman was prejudiced, arrogant and judgemental.

Admittedly, with hindsight, he could have handled it better but, at the time, it seemed to be the only thing he could do. "Oh, I see. So when you put 'bubbly' on the advert, you meant fat." The one guaranteed way to get a woman to loathe you on the spot; call her the 'f'-word.


	12. Unhelpful Things To Say In A Crisis

Unhelpful things to say in a crisis:

Alphonse understood that his bi- _older_ brother was tired, especially considering what he had done in Youswell, but to sleep through a hijacking? That took considerable skill, as well as a complete lack of any sort of sense of self-preservation.

He cast a look at Edward, still sprawled out over the bench, mouth wide open in mid-snore, and was that a string of drool at one corner? Oh well; at least his stomach was fully covered, for once.

The terrorists had swarmed into the carriage about ten minutes previously, at one o'clock on the dot, waving around their guns and shouting at everyone. Ed had not even twitched. It was not this, however, that had caused Al to seriously question any remaining faith he had in humanity's collective intelligence. Oh, no. That prize had to go to the businessman who, at their impressive entrance stood up and shouted at them.

"Look. I know you're a hijacker, but I ordered a vegetarian meal half an hour ago!" he blustered.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It was the mission in the South, the one that had started off with Ed almost killing Mustang due to a badly thought-out pep talk on the platform. The team were holed up behind a hastily-constructed barricade that owed its existence to Edward's skill with alchemic reactions.

Hawkeye reloaded her gun, propping her knee up on the firestep and pushing the nose out under the hinged flap, aiming carefully at the rebels. It was times like these that she really felt grateful for the versatility of the State Alchemists, even if it _was_ rather tastelessly decorated with a wide selection of gargoyles, skulls and whatever else Ed felt was 'cool' in the stage he was currently going through.

She pulled her gun back as trails of energy flared along the barricade. Once they had completed whatever it was he had chosen to alter, she looked up and down the tightly-packed earth walls. Nothing she could see.

She risked a glance out of the aiming hole. The pit hadn't changed either; still as deep as it was when Ed had first pulled the dirt out to make the protective wall.

Hawkeye ducked back as the fire redoubled, still wondering what, exactly, it was that Ed had changed.

And then they started throwing hand grenades.

"Falman!" the addressed man snapped a salute. "What happened? What're the chances of success?"

"Fairly high, sir," he replied. "But statistically speaking, of course, in these circumstances, most of us will die."

Hawkeye groaned. His memory was astounding – it was the reason he had been selected for this team – but sometimes she wished Ro- _Mustang_ had chosen another sharpshooter, someone she could relate to without the depressing statements he made every so often.

Mustang's estimation of taking ten days to solve it turned out, in the end, to be a little optimistic. It was not for another two weeks that Hawkeye could see what it was Ed had done to the wall that had, eventually, become a rather cushy little base for the six of them. She walked around to the front, relishing the lack of noise, and stood in disbelief.

"_Really_, Ed? Really?"

A great number of insults covered the face of the wall, picked out in rock bulging at least two inches out from the flat surface. She did have to admit that most of them were very imaginative, especially the ones questioning the parentage and intelligence of the rebels, but she did have to wonder who had taught him the more… _colourful_ phrases on the wall.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Ed cursed under his breath as he leaped over a table.

Honestly, of all the places to get attacked!

Did _no-one_ respect the sacred halls of libraries any more?

He slid under a chair and joined his younger brother, who shot a long-suffering stare at him. It wasn't like he went out and _looked_ for trouble. Well, not since the time when he took down that mafia-wannabe group in that little town. Or after he investigated the alarmingly high accident rate in that village – Dirtstream or something – and ended up almost being killed by the local Neighbourhood Watch who were killing off whoever upset the 'perfection' of the village. Or – yeah, OK. He pretty much went out looking for trouble wherever he went.

"Any ideas, Al?"

He pulled out his stick of chalk and transmuted a pretty neat trap from a few scraps lying around.

"Okay, I'll lure them in. You -"

"Get ready to set it off. I _know_, Brother."

Yeah, it didn't really work out the way either of them expected. As they fled for their lives, Ed opened the book they had originally come in to check out.

"You know what, Al? I think this Fourteenth century text adequately sums up what I want to say."

_LineBreakLineBreak_

His staff had been split up and Riza was, effectively, a hostage of the homunculus Fuhrer. Mustang felt he had the right to whinge a little.

"Oh, _I_ know, Colonel! Why don't we get the military council involved?!" he – very badly – mimicked General Hawkeye. "What could _possibly_ go wrong with that?" he also very conveniently 'forgot' that it hadn't been the older man's idea to get the group involved, but had just been the result of the latest in a run of bad luck.

Still, no matter how childish it seemed, _he had a right_ to whinge at a selected scapegoat who was half a country away.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

This was not a time for smartass quips. It was not a time of functioning brain cells. There was no chance for a swift and witty put-down.

Of course, this was no ordinary foe, oh no. They were facing an incredibly annoyed First Lieutenant Hawkeye who, it seemed, didn't like having her 'babies' messed with.

"**AAAAAAAAAAGH**!" Ed dived for cover.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

"Transmute my guns back to normal and nobody gets hurt!"

"If you give me complete immunity for whatever I may or may not do to Colonel Bastard in the next three months, I'll hand over the ringleaders!"

"Done." The woman's voice was lowered to an almost feral snarl. Hmm, seemed like her meltdown button was her weaponry. Who would've guessed?

Anyway, one thing Ed knew for certain was that he was _never_ taking a dare from Havoc again, especially after having dared the older man to flush all cigarettes on his person down the toilet.

**_Did anyone notice the rather blatant Hot Fuzz reference? No? _**


	13. Things You Wouldn't Hear On The News

_**Hello. Me again. I'm not gonna be able to post much during the week – school and homework and stuff – but I'll do my best to get some writing done for you lot.**_

_**And, on that note, you're not really doing your bit. Only **_**four**_** of you have reviewed. **_**Four**_**. Come 9on, people! Let's see which country has better readers! Get a little national pride involved here! (And an average of at least two reviews per chapter would be super-nice!)**_

_**That said, on with the show!**_

Lines You'd Never Hear From A News Reader:

More radio channels were popping up all over the place. It seemed that everyone who had a radio set wanted to get involved in the 'fun' of it and, as the alchemists believed, creation and destruction are two sides of the same coin. Many of the new channels did not last for longer than two weeks, and even then it was lucky!

To increase likelihood of long-term survival, each radio station tried to have a specific 'tone', which led to situations like the one Hughes could hear now:

"It is three o'clock on this wonderful summer's day and welcome to Channel Five News, thickos."

Surprisingly, many listeners found the rude tone funny and the number of listeners seemed to increase the more the insults piled up.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

Most of the radio stations got their funding from corporations that had discovered that many people now listened to the radio, making it just as good a forum for advertising as the newspapers.

Unfortunately, many of them were not entirely sure yet about _how_, exactly, to change their adverts from paper-suitability to interesting on the radio.

Actually, interesting was not quite the right word. They were interesting, that much was certain, but they were not quite… _right_.

There were no radio stations, as of yet, none had thought of the idea to have breaks in programming specifically for advertising. That did not mean that they tried their hardest to earn the money being given to them by the corporations paying for the airtime.

"Oi!" shouted one DJ in between songs, "You wanna buy some speakers?! The ones we have in here're from Downton's Tech Shop for a steal at only three hundred sens! What are ya waiting for?! And the next song is…"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

A state-run station had recently started up, focusing mainly on law and order and this week, they seemed to be trialling a new news presenter, hence the slightly odd reactions to the results of a few court cases.

Take, for example, the one about the case of two youths now convicted for bank robbery. They had not caused much damage and they had shown that they had a good reason to do it, which was why the harsh sentence was so surprising to those following the case.

But not, apparently, to this guy. He had been crowing about the perceived victory of law and order over 'hooliganism'. "And the two youths convicted this morning got what they f***ing deserved! That'll teach them to…"

It was, quite frankly, sickening to most of the listeners.

Which was, perhaps, why they were broken out by no less than fifty different people on the first day of their prison sentence.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It had finally happened. A State Alchemist stalkers' radio station was set up and they had somehow found the location of the top of their 'hot' list, Edward Elric's hotel room. A general alert had been issued and fangirls (and boys) started to congregate around the building.

What first alerted the Little Alchemist was the fact that he could not stop sneezing; a sure sign he was being talked about by someone nearby. And then his 'fangirl radar' was going haywire.

It helped, of course, that he looked out of the window.

There they were, in all their glory; Edward Elric t-shirts, signs with varying messages scrawled on them, even a few Fullmetal Alchemist plushies.

He backed away and started to build a barricade, not caring that Al was still out there. In a battle against fangirls, it was every man for himself.

They rushed the building and swarmed, like piranhas, to his hotel room, where a battle of Good versus Evil was soon to take place.

Later that evening, when the small army had been defeated, another news reporter entered the hotel.

"And, as I walk down these halls, every wall showing signs of a battle, I see scenes too revolting to describe. But let's have a go anyway! Basically…"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

_**And that's all for now. Look out for more later on this week (like maybe Saturday?) TTFN!**_


	14. Unlikely Lines In A Science Programme

_**Well, all I can do is apologise for being so horribly neglectful. It's just that I get started on writing, write a few words, and then get distracted! (Hetalia is the main cause of this distraction)**_

_**Here you go, then. Enjoy.**_

Unlikely Things To Hear On A Science Programme:

There were several stations in Central that catered for the scientific community, especially for the alchemists. There were also a few parody stations of these that were popular for poking fun at those same people, especially the State Alchemists, _Steel Watch_ being the most popular.

It was the middle of August, and all of the alchemists' stations were celebrating the genius that had made a life-changing discovery in the field of the more mathematical side of alchemy. The news was prominent enough on the 'normal' channels, but one could not turn to a single station specialising in alchemy without hearing the presenters enthusing over the skills of this amazing man.

_Steel Watch_, however, took great pleasure in making fun of the scientist and prepared a special report, which had been expected eagerly by pretty much all of its regular listeners.

It was time for the long-awaited report. Almost everyone in Central had tired of hearing about the now-famous Professor at the Central University of Sciences and they had waited for a full _day_ to hear the legendary station's take on the over-publicised innovation.

The documentary focused on the years of work the scientist had put into his equation and the failures and catastrophes he had encountered, not to mention an in-depth covering of every single explosion that he had caused, with a rough calculation of what it had cost the taxpayer. From start to finish, it was guaranteed to have every listener crying with laughter.

"…After working on the equation for _thirty years_, Professor Stephens made an _incredible_ discovery – his wife had left him and he had wasted his life. Signing off, and see you next week!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

The station set up for children was very popular, although not necessarily always with the parents.

It often ran educational programmes, as well as ones that were solely for entertainment. One of the more popular topics for these was science, whether biology, chemistry, simple physics or some basic alchemy, which they usually reserved for when a State Alchemist had been cajoled into speaking for them.

That day, during the lunch break at some point in his first month, Edward Elric tuned the break room radio into that station. He had _contacts_ and he had advance knowledge that the topic that day would be very… interesting for him, but not quite so much for his commanding officer who would, from the very first sentence spoken in the broadcast, have several plans in place for damage control.

"And now for today's experiment you can do at home! Today we're going to be making a bomb using chapatti flour and hydrogen peroxide! Ste-"

_Click_

The radio set was turned off by a terrified-looking Colonel Mustang. The _last_ thing he needed was Fullmetal gaining more knowledge about how to create explosions.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It had, all round, been a pretty awful year. The Ishbalan Campaign had barely ended and the country was at the poorest it had been in over half a century. The suicide numbers had increased, mainly among the soldiers who had helped to commit the attempted genocide and this was put down to PTSD caused by the constant fear on the Front.

All but one of the stations were highly sympathetic to these men and voiced their hope that the coming year would improve things.

This Station was heavily against the State and had to move its recording studio from place to place fairly regularly to avoid arrest and/or interrogation.

Flicking through the channels, trying to find something good to listen to, a mildly disillusioned Roy Mustang heard an interesting snippet.

"And, just in, a cure for acute depression may be just around the corner! Oh, here it is – a train."

Just as he was changing the frequency he was tuned into in disgust, he caught the sound of a locomotive hurtling past the speaker.

_LineBreakLineBreak_

It was one of a series of exposés on some of the more illegal habits of the citizens of Amestris and this particular programme was focusing on the sale of donated – or otherwise – organs for transplants.

The undercover reporter had been going around all of the places where, it was alleged, the trade was happening. He snuck out to record.

In a hushed whisper, he informed the listeners about the true horror of what he had experienced.

"The trade in human organs is shocking – this kidney cost me nearly a tenner! But, it is no joke, listeners. Make sure that you know where any organs you or your family receive come from!"

_LineBreakLineBreak_

_Aesop's_ was a channel dedicated to proving and disproving philosophical debates. That evening, the philosopher they were focusing their programme on was a Xingese truth-seeker who had lived back before Amestris had been founded. His most famous theory was that an arrow would never hit an animal running away from it _**[actual Greek theory, people! Look it up!]**_ and that was the concept with which they were wrapping the programme up that day.

"So, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls. The final question we ask this evening boils down to this: which is faster, a dog or a crossbow bolt?"

_**So, that's it for now. I did have a couple more lines, but couldn't think of a way to work them in. If you're lucky, maybe I'll be able to put them in later in another chapter, but I make no promises.**_


End file.
